


I feel you slipping, but i love to slip (so let’s slip together)

by Iwoulddie4himb



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, An exploration of underage drug use through minecraft you tubers!, Angst, Anxiety, British Slang, Coming of Age, Drunk TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Found Family, Hangover, Happy Ending, High TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, Panic Attacks, Protective Wilbur Soot, Recreational Drug Use, Sick TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Slight Violence (it’s brief), Smoking, Tommy POV, Tommy and Wilbur brother dynamic, Tommy finds out what it’s like to smoke/drink, Tommy is having a bit of a crisis and that’s ok, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Smoking, Use of Eryn as a prevalent side character, Vomiting, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, pretend covid doesn’t exist for a second, self worth issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28333875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwoulddie4himb/pseuds/Iwoulddie4himb
Summary: Tommy finds himself at a party.“Tommy?”Wilbur finds himself receiving a phone call at 2am.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 114
Kudos: 673





	1. did i forget your name, or make a joke and no one laughed?

**Author's Note:**

> All knowledge on drugs/drinking here comes from my own experience and isn’t representative of the CCs! Do not send to CCs :) 
> 
> (Title from The Lions Den by Mccafferty)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy gets used to being at his first house party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Only Everyone Can Judge Me by Crywank :)

Tommy was not absolutely oblivious, you see. He may be a Minecraft YouTuber, but that doesn’t stop him from being 16 years old in a British sixth forum college.

However, drugs had still absolutely been a hypothetical until now. It’s easy enough to hear about things in secondary, sitting in a mandatory year 8 science lesson and overhearing kids talking about sneaking booze and beer under their parents noses. Being asked by the guy next to you in maths if you’ve ever smoked before, because doesn’t drinking after smoking weed just hit different? Joking on the SMP server about running a breaking bad-esq underground meth business.

And of course, he would always tell himself, Tommy would never do drugs- he was just a kid! (And, a voice inside of him acknowledges, it isn’t like he was ever around. Nobody invited the kid in year 9 with a failing YouTube channel out to drink, and they certainly didn’t approach the year 11 with a successful online minecraft following) 

But then it’s sixth forum, and everything’s slightly different.

He’s not... he’s drank before, obviously. A, a glass of a wine over Christmas with his family, a beer whilst celebrating a big football match down at weatherspoons with extended friends at the end of summer.

And he’d never really given it an awful amount of thought before. Growing up playing games with people older than him who had already gone through their phases of underage drinking meant that it wasn’t like they peer pressed him into anything. In fact, Wilbur, Techno and Phil would always stop to make sure whenever Tommy did a bit about drugs to reinforce to him that, guess what Toms- drugs are bad! Don’t actually do coke Tommy!

Which is all he can kind of think about at this weird party.

A few of the friends he’d made already at college invited him along, he had no idea who’s house they were actually in. Everyone was... nice. Well, everyone was hideously drunk. And Tommy stood next to an island unit stacked full of sticky plastic cups and soaked napkins. Cider and beer cans, vodka, gin, rum, whiskey- bottles full of stuff he had always joked about and heard of but never. Seen. Pints of Sam Adams that couldn’t help but remind him of Hamilton.

(Which made him think about Wilbur.)

His friends were all laughing and knocking into each other jovially, even introducing some other people to Tommy- recognising people from primary or secondary or an out of town samba band performance or whatever. They were all being so nice. And he was having a nice time. Slightly buzzed off of the gin and orange concoction, grinning from ear to ear as he slowly eased into entertaining. The anxiety of the unknown suddenly became an oppertunity to do what he did best- tell stories and entertain.

And they were laughing! A pretty girl even playfully batted his arm, and one of his mates slung an arm around him and cackled uncontrollably and Tommy recalled some anecdote from the latest thing they had analysed in class.

“I mean- what were they thinking really, Erin? I mean, a, a ‘Video Games in Real Life’ smosh video from 2007 as an example of post modernism? Now- I’m not one to be fucking vulgar-“ several people snorted into their drinks. “But Mr Baudrillard knows where he can shove his damn ‘hyper reality theory’- it’s fucking smosh! It’s not, and I hate to break it to you, but it’s not that deep!” A round of laughs and nods of agreement- a newcomer adding on his own banter. 

He was in a social situation- a party with his peers and he was, he was having fun! They liked him!

And then he gets a discord notification. Mentally tapping out of the conversation for a second, he frowns minutely, brain slightly fuzzy. What was that about? He opened the chat.

Tubbo: u had a stream ment 2 start a hour ago, were r u

Tommy’s eyes widened in realisation.

Fuck.

He had forgotten to cancel today’s stream. And god, he know, he knows he should cancel. This was so last minute it had completely slipped his mind. That this was a bad idea. But streaming. Streaming means everything to Tommy. And missing a single day could... well, who knows when his relevancy comes to an end?

He hastily opened up Twitter and posted an apology and that he was postponing that day, a tweet probably ridden with typos but he couldn’t bring himself to care in the moment. When he got home he would probably be fine, right? It was what, 10pm now? He probably only had a couple hours left. It could be a chill stream!

He could absolutely firm it. No matter how much the room was spinning, he could firm it and nobody on the stream would notice. 

Briefly excusing himself from his friends, he stood off the side- fiddling with a discarded can tab in one hand and refilling his drink with the other. He wasn’t that drunk, and what is the point of a party if not to go big or go home? Alcohol probably wore off in like. An hour or something. Make the most of it, then get back to his stream.

Tommy chugged. Make the most of it, then get back to his stream...at some point.

He couldn’t stop thinking. Now that his bubble had been burst he felt. Exposed. The fuzz in his head that previous felt like a warm cushion, softening the world around him now felt like a vice- twisting his mind ever so slightly, tottering on the edge of uncertainty. God, streaming. Wasn’t that meant to be his priority? His job? And here he was just. Being lazy. Being irresponsible. What would Wilbur think? He hangs his head over his drink, eyeing the pearls of liquid that hung desperately to the side of his cup, slipping into the plastic crevices. (When had he finished this one?)

Logically, Tommy knows he’s not in trouble. He knows that Wilbur did the exact same stuff at his age, hell maybe earlier but-

He doesn’t want to disappoint him.

He doesn’t want Wilbur to think less of him- especially after all of their bits and gags about being a family. It would feel like. Like he’s breaking the rules. And also his head is really starting to buzz now, and it’s kind of freaking him out. And he cannot let Wilbur know that.

The music is pounding a bit against his ears.

Two versions of Wilbur currently existed in his mind, one that would be disappointed in him for drinking and shit, and another that said Wilbur would absolutely mock him relentlessly if he freaked out just because his first time drunk was at a house party when he was almost 17.

He’s fine. 

He refills his drink again.

He’s going to be fine.

He grinds the heels of his palms against his eyes until he sees stars. He breathes out. Breathes in. Focussing on the slight waver in his voice and pinching himself lightly to try and wave his mood away. Tipping his head backwards and opening his eyes to the slightly grotty ceiling above him, he slaps the sides of his face. Breathing out. He nods. He’s fine- he’s good. He’s great in fact! And it’s time to return to his ever waiting audience.

Stumbling slightly (there’s no fucking way he’s a lightweight, he simply won’t stand for it) he returns to his group and is intercepted by one of his closer friends in the circle.

“Tommy! Ethan has offered to let us hotbox his upstairs bedroom, are you in?” His friend turns to him, grabbing one of his shoulders and slurring his words more than before.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah obviously Eryn, whatever-“ he doesn’t really quite process what hotboxing is or why they’re going upstairs to it, but he does know that his friends are all very excited so it would obviously be fantastic. He empties his fourth (was it his fourth?) cup of the night and snags another one from the side before following his friends up, all of them swaying and giggling and holding onto one another the whole way.

And then they make it to the bedroom. Tommy doesn’t quite recall how, but now he’s locked in with not only his friends, but another group of which he recognises none of them. The room is slightly hazy, and the atmosphere shifts from the manic energy downstairs to something more relaxed. The smoke detector overhead is covered in a plastic bag, and the lights are dimmed a deep amber. It feels like stepping into a sepia photo.

And then Tommy processes the smell.

Now, Tommy hates to be one to judge, he’s a Minecraft youtuber for gods sake, and to each their own really. But the smell.

It’s a lot.

And all of a sudden, he’s ushered into a circle of other teenagers lounging across sofas and mattresses and beanbags, and he’s seated between complete strangers. And one of them turns to look him up and down and the first thing Tommy noticed about him isn’t his bleached hair or his numerous heavy rings or even the joint between his lips.

It’s his bloodshot to hell, blown wide eyes. And suddenly Tommy is slightly frightened.

The boy smiles lazily at him, lounging into his beanbag without a care in the world, and he takes the joint away from his mouth and exhales a pigmented cloud of smoke with it. He cocks a brow at Tommy and slowly, so fucking slow, unfurls his hand towards him.

“Want a hit?”

And the words take a second to really make sense to Tommy, his brows burrowing as his eyes flicker between the boy and what was in his hand. and then he does.

This guy is trying to give him drugs. Drugs with a Capital D. Marijauna, Mary Jane, the Devils Lettuce, etcetera.

The smoke snakes languidly through the air, and looking around Tommy sees the the rest of the room through the hazy and low settling smog. His friends he had been talking to, laughing with just minutes earlier are settling down, right into the scene. Someone offers Eryn a rip from a a bong and, and he just takes it. He watched his friend inhale and it plants a dissonance in his mind. These, these are good people.

And they’re doing drugs.

God his parents-

The guy notices Tommy’s hesitation and withdraws his hand, and his smile falls with a look of understanding- nodding at Tommy reassuringly. “It’s alright if not, you don’t have to do anything, man” and he raises a heavy hand to pat against Tommy’s shoulder.

Like he’s a kid again.

And unwittingly, he’s reminded of the fucking constant infantilisation. The constant looking after he endures from fucking everyone. Little Toms, the Small Innocent Child, Kid. Every time he’s had to ask for his damn parents permission to meet up with his older friends like Wilbur, and Philza,and Fundy, and-

And suddenly he realises what’s been bothering him for months.

He is 16 years old and it feels like nothing has fucking changed since he started his channel. Unable to grow, or change, because god forbid he loses the niche he’s fought tooth and nail to carve out for himself. And someone his own age is treating him like a child.

TommyInnit doesn’t do drugs. His head is swimming. TommyInnit doesn’t do drugs. The music is pounding louder and louder and the mantra repeats on loop in his head like a broken record and the buzzing is louder and louder and louder. TommyInnit doesn’t do drugs.

And wouldn’t it be nice to defy that expectation?

“No!” He widens his eyes in faux understanding, patting the boys arm on his shoulder, removing it tersely, “No, don’t worry haha, I wasn’t quite focusing properly. Um. Yeah!” The words feel heavy on his lips. “could I...have a hit?”

He knows it comes out awkward and stilted when the guy raises an eyebrow at him. But relief floods him when rather than, what, calling him out? The guy smiles at him. “I can do you one better?”

Tommy gulps. Laughing nervously, “and what would that be?”

The guy tears himself away from his beanbag of choice and hobbles thickly to the other side of the circle, to a girl surrounded by a cloud of smoke thicker than the rest and speaks some words to her that Tommy really can’t hear right now through the buzzing in his head.

He was going to do drugs.

The girl nods at whatever he says to her, holding out a hand ridden in slight circular burn marks as the boy drops a series of coins into her palm. She smiles at him, before digging around in a large purse next to her- pulling out a small plastic tin ridden with spikes, and a small ziplock baggy. Weed.

Tommy hyperfixiates on them, morbid curiosity and anxiety plunging his attention to whatever they were doing that he was about to, what? Inject? Inhale? Exhale?

She pops the green bud into the tin and starts grinding it from side to side, making small talk with the guy. She wasn’t even looking at it. In fact, after she laughs boisterously at something the other said, her gaze lands on Tommy and she catches him staring outright. She smiles. Something focused, and lightly sardonic, frighteningly exposing despite her blown pupils. She breaks contact to rummage once more and produces a small tan packet labelled “RAW” in bright red, and holds it up for him to see, canting her head to one side in question.

He stiffened. Fuck, she wanted him to make a choice. She thought Tommy had more than the foggiest idea of what went into marijuana and smoking. He just nods. 

(A voice tries to point out how fucking out of his depth he was. It sounds like Wilbur. He ignores it)

She returns the gesture, and peels a wafer thin paper from the packet and goes about putting together a joint for him- and Tommy is enthralled by the art form. At the end she holds it outwards to Tommy directly, not the lad that paid, and he shuffles towards the two of them nervously, plucking it from between her fingers.

“Wow- uh, um, thank you.” He stumbles out, trying to make eye contact with both of them but settling on looking directly at their noses instead. Realisation dawns upon him suddenly, remembering the money the two had exchanged and- “Shit, Do you want me to pay you back?”

“It’s no problem, I figured for your first one I could treat you to something that would actually get you high instead of a couple of hits.” The boy shrugs nonchalantly, a smirk playing upon his lips as he takes a toke from his own joint, but Tommy feels a slight caring coming from him. He didn’t need to do that at all.

And now he had to actually smoke it.

They were looking at him.

And- and he owed it to the nice lad and the girl who had gone through all the effort of making it for him. He couldn’t back down.

The smoke around them was building as the minutes passed, a hefty glaze over his eyes and between every person in the room. He could see perspiration building on the pitch black windows, and everything felt heavier. He already felt the thickness worming into his lungs and his joint wasn’t even lit yet.

He can see his hand shaking.


	2. i hope this doesn’t freak you out (stumbling over myself at a party i wasn’t invited to)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy undergoes the ordeal of learning how to smoke properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: panic attack descriptions, (not too vivid) and vomit mention. 
> 
> cw: smoking, Marijauna, the word “fag” to describe cigarettes.
> 
> Chapter title from Class Clown by Anthony Amorim :)

Here’s the thing about Tommy’s parents.

He loves the two of them, he really does- and they love him! He loves the way his mother’s eyes will glow when he tells her about a streaming milestone, and he loves the way his dad will ruffle his hair each time he comes home from school (however much he pretends not to).

But, they were still his parents. His guardians. They were strict with him for most things- and when they found out about him being a streamer their first reaction was reasonable, but... a lot. They were concerned that he had used his real name online, angry about little sleep he was getting, and anxious on how that would impact his grades and his future. He had to take a week off to explain his entire online presence to his parents.

And that strictness was especially prevalent with drugs. 

Growing up having to fight tooth and nail to get the lives they did meant his parents hadn’t really gone wild as kids. They met at a bloody work conference for gods sake, it’s not like they went out much. They told him as he got older that one of the reasons for their success was being able to say no to the ‘devilish temptation of drugs’ that ‘pulled all their companions down from potential glory’, and focusing on entirely what mattered. Parties didn’t fit into that.

So, understandably, when approached by his friend Eryn the previous day about a “killer sesh” happening, Tommy may have bent the truth slightly in telling them where he was. 

His parents thought he was staying the night at a friends. And he definitely wouldn’t be telling them about anything he did tonight.

(Not entirely incorrect but-)

Tommy’s hand was still shaking. 

The joint was now clutched awkwardly between his pointer and middle finger as his brain scarmabled to copy the pose the other boy held his joint in. His clumsy fingers clenched too tightly and squished the joint slightly, dislodging the cardboard filter the girl had so meticulously crafted. 

Anxiety gripped at the edge of his thoughts. “sorry” he winced and with a trembling thumb tried to push things back into place. 

God, he was going to fuck all this up so bad.

The two teenagers with him shared a glance. The girl tutted, god she must be so embarrassed of him-

He felt himself be gently pulled down and he landed softly on a worn beanbag, the soft impact and sound of rustling polystyrene pulling him from his thoughts. The girl had taken the joint from his hand and was fussing over it, murmuring to herself slightly and the boy had a palm gently grounding him from the shoulder. He blinked.

The boys mouth was twisted in what was clearly a disjointed attempt at a reassuring smile, “it’s alright man. Take your time.” He patted him awkwardly. Tommy sighed dejectedly and dragged a palm down his face in frustration. Here he was trying to prove himself as a big man and was only succeeding in making himself look even more pathetic. He smiled wetly at the boy and coughed into his fist anxiously, “Yeah, uh, sorry about that. Feeling a bit light headed is all.”

It was going to be fine. He felt his fingertips carve crescent shaped cuts into the palm of his hand as he steadied himself. 

“Listen,” the boy sighed out, sinking into the beanbag next to him, eyes hardening slightly as he stared down Tommy. “It’s going to be fine, alright? What you’re going to want to do is not panic. Cause if you’re all panicked and shit then you’re not going to have a good time” Brilliant. Another lecture from some random fuckass his own age. (Tommy didn’t mean that, this guy had been so nice and he was only trying to help but-)

“I’m surprised you don’t already know all this shit, you’re friends with Eryn right? He’s like the biggest pothead I know” 

(-but Tommy was so _sick of it_ )

“Yeah, yeah I fucking. I know.” Tommy didn’t know. In fact, helpfully enough Eryn had never even mentioned it around him. No big deal, not like they weren’t near life long friends. No fucking biggie. “I’ve got this Big Man. I’ll be fine,” he saw the boy blink slowly in disbelief, and here came the biggest lie of Tommy’s entire life “this isn’t like, my first time smoking. I’ve had like, fags and shit before. I know what I’m doing.”

The boy raised an eyebrow skeptically, but Tommy didn’t fucking care as he could barely focus on small details like facial expressions at this point. He breathed in and out heavily, sweat coating his palms, the breath in his lungs rattling through his body shakily. Not out of anxiety though! Definitely not. After all, I mean according to this guy being anxious was just a bad fucking idea, so he wasn’t! Actually he was just a little pissed off that apparently being infantilised extended to people he cared about and fucking Eryn apparently. He absentmindedly glared the boy down.

Whatever.

The girl coughed awkwardly, putting an end to the weird staring contest the two boys had been having, holding out a refined version of the same joint towards Tommy.

“Here you go. The filter was fucked, so I sorted it. Are you smoking it or what?” She smirked, waving the joint back and forth in a playful taunting motion. Tommy snatched it off of her. 

“Ah yeah, of course, big thanks, I appreciate it hugely, you’re a life saver” he rambled, ducking his eyes from her. Why were women so fucking terrifying? He had no clue if she was making fun of him or not. He looked down at the joint. “Uh, has anyone got a lighter?” He fiddled with the end anxiously, gauging the weight of the thing. It was so fucking bizarre, why on gods earth was he doing this. “Yeah, sure take mine. I’ll need it back though.” The boy tossed him a black electronic bic lighter which he caught with his spare hand. Quite decent considering the fact Tommy was probably absolutely fucked.

It was time. Tommy closed his eyes and breathed in and out deeply, grounding himself as much as he could manage with the alcohol still buzzing against his skin.

He opened his eyes. They seemed to settle and focus on the blunt between his fingers with newfound clarity and he saw it for the first time in high definition. 

He was TommyInnit and he could firm this. A spark of excitement sparked in his veins and he felt himself smile. He was going to have fun. 

He lifted it to his lips, and went through the motions of an action he had seen a million times before. The actions of teenagers and adults alike he had offhandedly observed for years huddled together with other smokers outside of their respective colleges and office blocks in small bubbles of smoke and perspiration. 

He thumbed the plastic tab of the lighter, once, seeing a spark, twice seeing the brief flicker of a flame, third times the charm. The flame caught, and trembled in the air steadily. The butt of the blunt pressed against the smile on his lips. 

He lit the joint, flame held securely against the tip and he watched it catch fire and start to smoulder. And finally, he sucked in a quick breath, took the blunt away from his lips and breathed out. He blinked in surprised.

Well that was underwhelming. Tommy frowned. Was he high now? 

The joint was snatched from his fingers abruptly by the boy, who tsked at him exasperatedly. What the fuck? Tommy glared at him quizzically. 

“What the fuck?” 

The boy shook his head forlornly at him, an amused puff of air pushing past his lips, “no- listen. Classic rookie mistake here man. Look at me alright?” He leaned in close, like really close to Tommy’s personal space, and he leaned back stiltedly against his palms to give himself more space, lighter awkwardly clattering on the wooden tiled floor. He gulped. 

“You want to actually breathe it in to get high, right? The way you’re doing it you’re basically just holding it in your mouth and then pushing it straight back out. It’s not like, in your lungs or whatever.” Tommy snorted. “Do I look like I know the fucking science behind it, man?” The boy grinned, leaning around Tommy to wrangle the lighter from his grip- pushing Tommy further back. He huffed, relighting the joint “Fucking hell, let me do a practical demonstration then” the girl behind Tommy snorted, reminding Tommy of her presence- and Jesus Christ he was practically on top of her, he scrambled, quite literally stuck between a rock (the stoner lighting a blunt right beneath Tommy’s nose) and a hard place (a woman who May or May Not be laughing with or at him). He was quickly losing his cool with how clingy and touchy feely these drunk and high strangers were, and forced out a strained laugh in his awkwardness. He felt sweat forming at the side of his temple. Jesus.

Then he felt a waft of smoke directly hit his face, and he spluttered against the wave of earthy smog pouring from the boys parted lips. “You want to actually breathe it in. One way of telling if it’s working is if you feel it in your nose? I usually feel it on the right nostril” he shrugged “Since you’re not used to it, unless you cough after your hit you’re almost certainty not doing it right.” He took another puff and then passed it back to Tommy. “That’s my masterclass, I guess”.

Tommy steadied himself once more, and went in for the hit. A deeper breath in, through both his nose and mouth.

And he promptly coughed up half a fucking lung, throat tingling with the acrid burning sensation he just had the joy of experiencing. 

“Jesus Christ!” He spluttered, still choking on the lingering dregs of smoke inside him, scrambling to cover his mouth to at least try and cover up the horrendous hacking.

“There you go! They grow up so fast!” The girl wiped a fake tear from under her eye and the boy snorted. Tommy sent a scolding glare to both of them, quite literally choked down his pride and went in for a second hit out of pure spite- this time not breathing in quite as deep, clenching his mouth tight to try and avoid that embarrassing ordeal again. And then, breathing out. 

This time he saw the cloud, the stream of smoke exit his lips and exhale into the face of the boy hovering next to him, a wonderfully sick satisfaction coiling in his gut. Finally. He fucking did it, higher off of his own pride and sense of accomplishment than the drugs in his damn body. He smiled.

—

Tommy’s bones have melted, he thinks. His entire body is the heaviest he’s ever been, and he doesn’t think anything could rouse him from where he’s officially melded to the beanbag. His mouth feels firmly glued shut with cotton and each word fights itself sloppily through his weirdly numb teeth. 

“Fucking hell” he breathes out deeply, fingers dancing and tapping against the thick woven plastic of the beanbag. He feels the ridges of his fingerprints move over every plastic fibre. He feels the teeth inside of his mouth, and every taste bud on his tongue.

The joint lulls in between his fingers loftily, smoke trailing and snaking through the hair as he waves it during his sluggish gesticulation. “And I think that’s probably why I’m so pissed off. I would trust him to treat me with more respect than that, you know?” He sighs, taking another toke and breathing out the resulting smoke to his two companions, who nodded empathetically. Roy, Tommy had finally learnt his name, holds out a hand expectedly, and Tommy passes the spliff over to him. 

“I’m really sorry about that, man.” He shrugs, taking a hit before handing it over to the girl who originally rolled it, Jesse. “If I’d known he hadn’t told you I wouldn’t have mentioned it. You’re Tommy right? He mentions you all the time so I just assumed you knew.” He wraps an arm around Jesse as she finishes off her hit, taps off the ash and passes the blunt back to Tommy. “But I get why he didn’t. There are people you have that you wouldn’t want to know about this, right?”

Tommy whined and sank deeper into the beanbag, clumsily pushing his hair out of his eyes with fingers turned to jelly. “‘Suppose. God, I can’t imagine telling Tub- Toby about any of this. I have no idea how he’d take it. I’ll just mention it if it comes up I guess.” Jesse ‘Ahhh’s’, and turns to face Tommy- snapping her fingers in understanding “Which is why Eryn never brought it up with you! The ‘Don’t ask, Don’t Tell’ policy. A great idea until the inevitable happens and they find out through anyone other than you. Be careful with that, Toms” she sniggers.

Tommy freezes. He feels his heart rapidly starting to beat viscous blood through his veins after twenty minutes of steady deep breathing. He can feel his pulse radiating from the hairs on the back of his neck, feels the beating against the joint that starts to shake in his hands. 

He felt a rotten feeling take root in every nerve ending of his body. He shivered.

Roy snorted, glancing at Jesse in confusion. “‘Toms’? How fucked are you Jess, wouldn’t you say it’s a bit early for pet names?” He mulls the word in his mouth like a melting gobstopper. “Toms? Swear I’ve heard that before as well...that’s so scuffed. We don’t know any other Toms do we?”.

Fuck, fuck, fucking shit, what the fuck. Goosebumps prickle across his entire body, and a startled jolt courses through Tommy’s hand, jamming the blunt into the hardwood of the floor, and the blunt puts itself out with a fizzle into the wooden planks. He felt sweat break out where his back had been plastered to the plastic fibres behind him, and Jesus how had he not noticed how _sweaty_ he was before-

Jesses eyes lit up. 

Tommy was going to be sick.

“No Fucking Way.” She barked out a laugh, and reached into her back pocket for her phone. Tommy scrambled himself together, shooting up from the beanbag and scrounging for the jacket he swear he had started the night wearing, shoving the smouldering blunt into his Jean pockets messily. Wallet, phone, keys, god maybe he could locate his shit if the room would just stop _fucking spinning_.

“Roy. Look. At This.” Jesse shoved her phone under his nose and his eyes widened in recognition, pupils flickering from the image on Jesse’s phone to Tommy in front of him. 

The door was maybe 3 feet away? He could definitely leg it. His entire body tingled with pins and needles, and he stamped the soles of his feet several times, begging them to lose their numbness as soon as possible.

“Well it’s been a delightful evening with the both of you, I really should be heading off soon, thank you so much for the drugs I will be sure to try and pay you back at some point I’m sure-“ Tommy’s eyes caught on the glinting zipper of his wallet wedged firmly between the beanbag and the floorboards, and he reached out for it.

The boy’s hand grasped his wrist firmly and Tommy felt every cool band of metal on his fingers sear into his skin like a brand. 

“No fucking way that you’re TommyInnit.” Tommy turned his head torturously slow, trying his fucking best to not look into his gleaming, reddened eyes. The crazed, disbelieving grin plastered on his face. “No fucking way I’ve been smoking weed with TommyInnit for the past half an hour.” People were starting to turn towards them, staring at them. Drawn to the rapid movements that cut through the thick smog of marijauna like a knife through butter. 

“Guys-“ Roy turned over his shoulder, drawing the attention of the entire room and Tommy promptly took that opportunity to tug his arm from the boys grip, and fucking book it to the other side of the room. Knocking over peoples shit, sending lighters and other miscellaneous garbage flying- yelling apologies over his shoulder as he tripped over someone’s feet. He reached the door, wrenching it open just as he heard the continuation of Roy’s sentence.

“It’s TommyInnit!” He looked inside of the room once last time to see Roy’s outstretched finger pointed directly at him accusingly and the faces of a dozen inebriated teenagers staring at him with varying degrees of shock and confusion. 

He flung his entire body weight against the door, slamming it shut, and feeling the doorway shake under his palms as he rested upon it. The pounding bass of the music was back.

He turned on his heel and stumbled through the hallways and to the bathroom, covering his mouth with palm as gags shuddered through his body.

He was going to be sick.


	3. for the friends I've made, for the sleepless nights (the warning signs i completely ignored)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy figures out what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for attempted vomiting, someone forcing themselves to try and throw up. Slight violence, blood mention. Nausea, panic.
> 
> Chapter title from Twin Size Mattress by The Front Bottoms :)

Once inside the bathroom of the house party he hadn’t been invited to, on a street he didn’t know the name of, Tommy promptly collapsed against the toilet, and rested his pounding skull on the tacky linoleum seat. 

Jesus Christ, this really couldn’t have gone any worse.

Everything ached and the pounding in his head seemed to be competing with the pounding in his heart, racing to see whether a migraine or a heart attack would be the end of him. He spluttered, heaving his guts out over the damned toilet seat. But nothing would come out. Everything felt rotten and dirty, and his brain, addled by both alcohol and weed just wanted it fucking out. But no matter how much he dry heaved, or shoved his fingers down his throat to try and claw it out, it just wouldn’t fucking budge.

His knees were shaking with exhaustion from holding his body up, and he gripped the toilet seat even harder- but still nothing. All he could get out was more and more dry heaving interspersed with wet globs of spit and mucus. Nothing actually substantial. He leaned his clammy forehead on his sweaty forearms and ran his fingers through his greasy hair in an effort to ground himself. His body was a sweaty, hormonal, nauseating trap and there was nothing he could do to tear himself out of it. His throat was rubbed raw by his fingers, and each hacking cough irritated it further. The knowledge that by smoking he had effectively burned the inside of his lungs only succeeded in making his shit brain panic even further at the imagery and the implications.

His phone buzzed sharply against his thigh, irritating his developing migraine and jolting him back to the fuzzy waking world against his wishes, as his body yearned to just shut down and deal with everything in the morning. He fumbled for the device, unlocking it through sheer muscle memory and his head swam as he tried to decode whatever was staring back at him. 

Tubbo: dude u still streamkng? (Sent 10:32)

Tubbo: ur late again (Sent 10:38)

Tubbo: lol late to a rescehduked stream. everything ok? Im jsut stalling for u (Sent 10:39)

Tubbo: we started w out u. are u ok,???? (Sent 10:39)

Tubbo: :( (Sent 12:02)

New Messages

Tubbo: hope ur oaky (Sent 01:15

Tommy could’ve cried, he really could’ve. Here he was. The magnum opus his entire shitty life had lead up to, already slipping between his fingers. He had finally succeeded in exposing how much of an awful friend he was to the world. He had last minute rescheduled a stream other people were relying on him for, then publicly stood up his friends that were relying on him, got hideously drunk and was recognised whilst smoking weed.

Jesus, Tubbo would be so disappointed in him him, if he hadn’t already found out why he had skipped the stream. 

(And it really said a lot that he couldn’t even remember what stream he was missing, dream smp? had they already streamed his exile? was it meant to be a chill stream, or god forbid was it a bloody plot stream with the entire server-)

He needed to fucking get out of here. He clambered to his feet. Let it be known that TommyInnit knew he limits, (he didn’t), and he was ready to get the fuck out of this hell. He winced at the abysmal music pounding through his head. If he had to listen to That’s What I Like by Bruno Fucking Mars one more time-

A rapid banging at the door alerted him to his senses, and he swung around, tripping over his own feet slightly as he rested his weight against the sink and gripped the tap for support. “Who is it?” He forced out behind his clenched teeth. The sound of gagging and wet squelching sounds answered him, and Tommy sighed burying his head in his hands. That was going to be fun to step over.

He closed his eyes. It was fine. He would find Eryn, grab him, and leave. No more drinking, no more smoking. He ran the taps, splashed water onto his face and stared down his reflection. “You are Tommy Innit and you are going to be fine.” He nodded, breathed in, slapped both sides of his face lightly and left the bathroom.

Straight away he was greeted by a collapsed, unconscious body in a pile of it’s own various fluids. Great. “We love to see it” he murmured, gingerly stepping over the prone body. The hallway ahead of him wasn’t too bad, and nobody seemed to be paying attention to him. Just pairs of teenagers too wrapped up in each other, literally, to notice Tommy awkwardly shuffling past them. He poked his head into a few rooms, ignoring the few stares and whispers he received before he finally found who he was looking for.

“Eryn, dude, thank fucking god” Tommy pushed through the thick crowd of bodies, grasping the sleeve of his childhood friends hoodie and turning his head to look him in the eyes. Unsurprisingly they were bloodshot to hell and back, and the glassy overblown pupils Tommy stared into took several moments to focus on him. Eryn’s smile twitched onto his face, “Hey Tommy!” He drawled, hooking an arm over his shoulder.

Tommy winced. The stares that had been following him to even get to Eryn multiplied. “Yeah! Yeah, Eryn it’s me! Your, your good friend Tommy! You, uh, you’re not looking too hot buddy!” Tommy nudged him with the crook of his elbow awkwardly. “How about we get you somewhere chill for a second? Somewhere extremely private where we can have important dude bro conversations that are just too boring to be said in public!” Eryn’s eyebrows furrowed, and he opened his mouth as if to protest, but Tommy was already dragging the boy down the steps and out through the main living space of the house. He squirmed out of Tommy’s iron grip, and shoved him back as Tommy led him out the front door of the house.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Eryn slurred, stumbling over his own feet to as he held Tommy an arms width away. “Nothing! Nothing, everything’s fine! Nothing could be finer, how about we... go sit down, right here! Lovely spot this is!” Tommy plonked himself down on the curb outside the house. The blaring music from inside was so distant now, and Eryn glanced back at it longingly before sighing and sitting down with Tommy. There were still odd groups of people mulling about outside. But at least it wasn’t in the scorching heat and smog of teenage body odour and nicotine that permeated the house inside. Tommy shuddered, thinking about the cleaning someone would have to do the next morning. Eryn sloppily clicked his fingers in front of Tommy’s face, “Dude, what’s up? Is everything ok?”.

Tommy sighed. “Nothing man I just. I’m not having a good night, I told my mum I would be staying the night at yours and I would appreciate it it we could leave early” he was slouched forward, his arms wrapped around himself defensively. Eryn awkwardly coughed and patted him on the shoulder, grimacing. “Dude it’s no sweat! Uh- I really don’t know man. I was going to crash the night here ‘cause, haha, if my mum saw me like this she would kill me.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “You mean if she saw you high as a kite off of drugs?” He saw Eryn gulp and promptly went in for the kill. He spat out, “Which, you know man, would have been nice to fucking know. I found that shit out from a complete stranger. When the fuck were you planning on telling me you were involved in all,” he spluttered and gestured to the many people huddled around rolling joints and smoking weed outside the roaring house party, “this?”. 

Eryn breathed deeply, “Dude, lay off it”. He moved to stand before Tommy roughly grasped his wrist, “Lay off of what, Eryn? The fact that someone described you as the biggest pothead he knew? The fact that you’re meant to be my friend, but you didn’t even tell me about this? What the fuck am I mean to think-“ Eryn shook off his grip and turned roughly on his heel.

“I said to lay off it Tom! I don’t fucking owe you shit!” He grabbed the neck of Tommy’s shirt and pulled him up to his level. “You haven’t been there for me for months, you asshole! Don’t act as if this is sudden! Your stupid YouTube channel has been more important than me since you started to blow up! My parents went through a fucking divorce last year, and my best friend barely seemed to notice! Is it really a surprise I’m, fucking-“ he stumbled slightly as Tommy shook him off, “-depressed? And miserable?” Tommy’s eyes widened as he saw his friends eyes darken and a snarl twinge across his face. He took a step back before Eryn pointed a finger directly at his chest and advanced on him. “You’re not better than me Tom! You’re not better than anyone here, just, just because you’re not a normal fucking teenager!”

At this point people had started glancing at the two teenagers screaming at each other on the front patio of the house party, and Tommy started to back off, eyes flickering from his friend and the growing crowd. “Alright, fuck, I’m sorry Eryn. I just can’t have people recognising me here, do you know how bad that would be for me? I didn’t realise-“ Eryn barked a laugh and shook his head in disbelief. “You never fucking do! Ever, Tom! You’ve got everything handed to you on a silver platter, and you still want to complain!” He spat at Tommy’s feet and roughly wiped sweat and tears off of his face with the back of his knuckle. “Who, who gives a shit if everyone here recognises you? ‘Oh BooHoo I’m the great TommyInnit and too many people want to be friends with me!’ Just get over yourself you twat!” 

And with that he drunkenly swung at Tommy, punching him squarely in the face. Tommy recoiled, pain erupting behind his eyes and he felt something crack underneath his friends fist. Likely his nose. A wave of jeers and winces sounded out around them, and Eryn stumbled back. Tommy saw him stare down at his bloody knuckles in shock. He reached up to his lip, and his fingers came away red and glistening. He did what any sensible person would’ve done.

He ran the fuck away. Like he always does.

His feet pounded against the unforgiving tarmac, and he glanced back over his shoulder just once to see Eryn staring after him, an indescribable expression upon his face that Tommy couldn’t make out. Maybe he never would. He kept running.

The streetlights whipped past him in a blur. All he could hear were his laboured breaths and his shoes hitting the ground.

After the adrenaline of the fight wore off, Tommy felt himself finally slow to a stop. His lungs ached with the exertion of running faster than he ever had in his entire life, as well as the smoke he still felt lying thick against the walls of his throat. The world span and ebbed and flowed around him. He felt his shoulder start to shudder with the effort of suppressing his pathetic sobs, and that’s when he finally broke. The boy fell to his knees in the middle of a suburban nightmare he didn’t recognise and finally let himself cry, blood, tears and snot running down his face. He couldn’t even wipe it away properly with his trembling hands.

Jesus, forget about Theseus, he was more comparable to Icarus. Flying too close to the sun on the joy of living out his childhood dream of being a content creator, and getting greedy. Falling from grace because he was too fucking insecure to “Just say No to Drugs, Tommy!” and too stupid to look out for those he cared about. He was just a reckless bloody child, who couldn’t appreciate when he finally had a good thing going for him.

(He couldn’t tell if that particular line of thought was spoken by his parents or his friends. Both made him feel sick with embarrassment and shame.)

The grit of the curb dug into his skin harshly, and he adjusted himself clumsily to try and mitigate the physical ache of shame in his body, and to brush away the tiny gravel and stones stuck to his skin like an uncomfortable outer shell. In the process he felt several things dislodge in his pockets, and fished them all out to ease his discomfort.

His phone, the squashed blunt and a lighter. Only about half of it smoked.

He groaned, feeling another wave of sickness come over him. He still couldn’t throw up, and the streetlights enlightening the bleak world around him burned like fire into his retinas. Everything felt awful, enhanced, and his heart was still pounding in his ears. He needed to fucking sleep, throw up- anything to make his body calm the fuck down.

His gaze lingered on the blunt. It would be such a bad idea. But he couldn’t take it home, and throwing it away just seemed like a waste. He still felt indebted to the two teenagers for giving him free drugs, even if they might ultimate contribute to him losing his dream job and every friend he’d ever made. He scoffed wetly. 

His heart was still pounding uncomfortably fast, hard and loud. He needed to calm down. A part of him just felt like he fucking deserved it. Was there a sadder sight than a deadbeat Minecraft YouTuber smoking weed on the side of the road in the dead of night?

He felt like he deserved it. The joint was between his fingers and lit before he could process the thought, and he was exhaling smoke and savouring the burn moments later. The way it _hurt_ on the way down. Retribution for his own stupidity. And hey, maybe this time he could go back to that calm he felt in his bones. The one that made him melt, and forget whatever hellfire he had brought upon him.

One hand held the joint, his forehead rested on his palm as smoke trailed lazily into the pitch black sky above him. The other scrolled through his contacts list absentmindedly. 

He had to call someone.

Currently, his parents were under the impression he was staying at Eryn’s. He clearly wasn’t, and after running away like a pussy he definitely couldn’t go back to the party to try and persuade any vague acquaintances to take him in. And he certainly wasn’t going back to sleep overnight at the house party.

He took another toke and choked on the smoke, coughing heavily. He had definitely taken too big a hit. The coughs rang out into the silence of the neighbourhood, alerting him to the eerie stillness of the night.

He had no fucking clue where he was, so it wasn’t like he could walk home. He and Eryn had walked to the party, so he had no bike either. 

He had to call someone to pick him up. That person had to live in his area. And that person needed to own a car.

He really only had one option.

The phone rang shrilly against the smothering quiet that engulfed him, on a street he didn’t know the name of. He was so utterly alone. It continued ringing until it went to voicemail, and Tommy wasn’t surprised he would have to ring it a second time. His call was picked up on the third ring this time.

The static felt like a brand on his ears, jolting him back to consciousness. He coughed nervously and mumbled out;

“Hey Wilbur.”


	4. feeling sick of myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Sweet Tooth by Cavetown :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and please read the ending notes for information about the future of this work.

“Tommy?” 

Wilbur blinked blearily down at his phone screen, illuminated by the call display and a photo of Tommy from their meet up in Brighton. He scowled lightly and moaned, half heartedly scrubbing his eyes. Why the fuck would Tommy of all people be calling him at this hour, especially on his number rather than discord? He groaned as he heaved himself to lean against his headboard, digging the dried sleep from the corners of his eyes, contemplating whether to answer. He let it ring. He was tired, and he could always talk to the child tomorrow. 

The ringing stopped and the man sighed gratefully, about to start burrowing back down into his covers before it started screaming at him once more. Wilbur grumbled and let out a frustrated scream of his own, before finally sluggishly swiping the “accept call” slider into place, anticipating the usual boisterous Tommy shrill he was used to.

The other end of the line was still, silent aside from the whisper of wind against the microphone.

Something wasn’t right. Wilbur hastily propped himself up on his elbows, and felt his temperature and stomach drop.

“Tommy?” 

Silence across the line. 

He wasn’t speaking. Wilbur’s heart hammered against his ribs as he realised he would have to instigate the conversation. Tommy wouldn’t call him this late if nothing was wrong, and he trusted his gut which told him that something was. Something was deeply wrong. He rattled his brain for anything to say, before his eyes landed on the glowing display of his PC monitor, reminding himself of the events of the previous stream. He frowned, and could taste the bitter disappointment from hours before.

He, Tubbo, Philza, Quackity and Tommy had all agreed to stream some Rust SMP content, and finally get the ball moving on some plot points and role play for the first story and character beats. After his first venture into writing collaborate role play scripts with Dream SMP, Wilbur had been psyched to start another with more experience under his belt. An overriding plot, more character backstory details and motivations...he had so many ideas.

Despite the nerves they all had about branching out into a new content genre, away from the reliability of the Dream SMP, they had all been really excited for it. Wilbur had thought that Tommy shared in that. Until he bunked the whole thing off carelessly a few hours ago. 

It had been painfully fucking awkward stalling for him for half an hour until they accepted he wouldn’t show. They had all sighed, moved on, established a couple of plot details, but none of the core stuff. The stream was fine, but it would be a bloody nuisance to put it off until they all had matching schedules again.

Wilbur sighed, pinched the space between his eyebrows. Tubbo had been really worried, and however bitter he may have felt- he shared that concern with the boy. Tommy had never done something like this before, and it had shaken both of them when he wasn’t on the discord hours later. In the end, he had just settled into bed about an hour ago and had encouraged Tubbo to do the same.

He sighed.

“Where the fuck were you today Toms, is everything alright? Why the hell are you calling me this late?”

Wilbur grimaced. That...probably came across harsher than he intended.

A strained cough sounded over the over side of the static on the line, and Wilbur could practically hear the patented brand of TommyInnit ‘Fuck I’m in trouble, time to back-peddle’ wince. 

He already felt the headache coming on.

“Well, you see, about that Wilbur- really funny story that.” Wilbur frowned, as he couldn’t quite tell if the slurring of Tommy’s words was because of the abysmal call quality or something else. He sounded rough as hell, and he didn’t think he’d ever heard Tommy’s voice so low and scratchy.

(Surely not, he told himself. Tommy was not that kind of kid.)

“Absolutely hilarious really, I mean- proper main channel vlog content right there!” The boy laughed hysterically. “Who knows Wilbur,” he sang song playfully, and it sounded so thickly wrong against his shot to hell voice. “Could be the great return of the Vlog Gun! Great clickbait title and everything!” Wilbur gritted his teeth and sighed in exasperation. His heart continued to hammer with every stilted and awkward word Tommy pushed out. 

He worried his lip between his teeth, feeling the skin break. A nervous habit. “Tommy, get to the point. You sound like a fucking wreck, are you alright?” He tapped the case of his phone rhythmically to attempt to calm himself.

(It would be nothing, Tommy was fine. He was just...jumping to conclusions.)

“Right, right, of course.” A deep breath over the line. “I need you to pick me up.”

Wilbur blinked. 

“Pick you up?” He parroted back.

“Yup.” Tommy, infuriatingly, refused to elaborate.

It wasnt like Wilbur had never picked up Tommy before. He had done a couple of after school runs for the boys’ parents on a few occasions as he didn’t live too far away. 

That didn’t mean he lived around the fucking corner though. A spark of irritation radiated through Wilburs head. 

“Excuse me, Toms? Do you know what time it is- it’s two in the fucking morning! Why the hell do you need picking up from your house?”

Wind howled from the other side of the line of Tommy’s phone. The tell tale sound of a car zooming past, tires crunching on apsalt, echoed over the speakers. 

A wave of realisation hit Wilbur as he realised several things at once. 

“Tommy, did you stand up the stream for a fucking party or something?”

Silence. Wilbur let it hang. 

“Uh,” Tommy coughed. “A bit.”

The implications hit him like a truck. This was bad. Wilbur felt his eyes widen in realisation. This was really bad.

“Tommy, do you know what day of the week it is?” 

“Uh, yeah Bitch- it’s like. Fuckin Wednesday or summit.” 

It was not, in fact, Wednesday. It was actually the start of a Saturday morning. Wilbur felt his heart race, and he clambered from his bed and started to stumble around in the dark of his room, illuminated only by the faint blue glow of his monitor. He dove into his old laundry basket hastily, shoving on a pair of socks and chucking on a shirt. 

This was _really_ bad. He hummed at Tommy’s answer shrilly, attempting to not give away his concern. He was probably failing miserably, but worryingly Tommy wasn’t even teasing him for it as he would usually, jumping on the opportunity to laugh at the elders concern.

He reached the darkened hallway of his apartment, chucked on his coat hung up on the back of the door, and felt around until his shin bashed into the narrow table that had his keys and wallet on. He hurriedly crammed them into his pockets and slowed down at last as he felt the taste of copper coat his mouth from how hard he had been biting his lips. “Tommy, how drunk are you?”

He heard a slight sob on the other end and the man swear he could hear his fucking heart break. “Quite a bit, big man.”

“Well don’t worry Tommy, I’m on my way out now. Do you know where you are? Can you see any street signs?” He shut the door behind him and almost forgot to lock it in his haste to get to his car. 

“Uh. I’m not sure- no wait, I, I can see something yeah.” He recited the name of a nearby lane. “I think kind of nearby my school? If, if that helps.”

“Thanks Toms, you’re doing absolutely brilliant. Hang on for me, alright?” Wilbur shushed him gently as he opened up google maps on his phone, plugging in the usual route he followed for Tommy’s school as well as the street name he had just listed. He frowned as he swiped past a boatload of Twitter notifications, more than he would usually expect at this time. 

He was suddenly struck by an awful idea and quickly checked on one of the more obscure ones.

anita_04: “LOL why is TommyInnit at my fucking house party? What is going on? Swear he’s missing a stream as well 👀👀 @TubboLIVE @WilburSoot @Ph1LzA”

Followed by a blurry as fuck photo of the back of a blonde boys head, holding a plastic solo cup in a group of people. To the average person he may have just been some kid at any old party.

Wilbur couldn’t instantly recognise it as his Tommy. He hesitantly checked the replies, and it was a cohort of other users debating that topic. If it was Tommy or not. A follow up tweet. 

anita_04: “if you guys don’t believe me I’ll go on a search for him now. I lost sight of him a while ago, await updates!” 

The tweet was posted 2 hours ago, and it seemed that there hadn’t been any follow up since. Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief. He had worried that Tommy had perhaps run into the worst case scenario but.

He could work with this. 

“Alright Toms, sit tight, I’m on my way. Have you got anyone with you to look after you? Is Eryn about?” 

A shaky exhale responded to him, a croaky “Yeah, sure” that sounded so fucking wrong coming from the Tommy he knew. Wilbur frowned, but didn’t want to press the guy if he was as out of it as he seemed to be. He turned his keys in the ignition, prayed he had enough fuel for the journey- and hauled his car out of the apartment complex driveway as fast as he ever had, ignoring the spluttering protest of his shitty car engine.

He was on his way. 

—

He slowly circled through the surrounding neighbourhoods, and it took him a moment to spot the lanky 6’3 of eccentric Minecraft gamer curled up into a small ball on the side of the road. Wilbur felt himself physically clench his hands around the wheel as he pursed his lips. He didn’t think it was possible for Tommy to appear that small.

When he finally parked his car a little ways off from Tommy, he leapt out of his car door with all his might, not even bothering to close the damn thing behind him. He sprinted to Tommy’s side, ignoring the whistling in his lungs that protested against this much bodily exertion at three in the morning, but he _didn’t care_. He needed to hold his little brother.

He hesitated a couple of feet from his body. Tommy still hadn’t reacted to his presense, still curled in tightly on himself, head buried in crossed arms atop crossed shins and pointed knees. Wilbur frowned. He had expected more visible vomit and stumbling, as that had been more of his first encounter. Then his eyes narrowed and as he got closer, he saw the cigarette butt lodged loosely between his knuckles, bitten raw from the cold. He spoke softly.

“Hey, Tommy?” He knelt down beside the boy, arm wrapped gingerly around his shoulders.

Tommy slowly, inch by inch, lolled his head to the side to make eye contact with him. Wilbur felt himself make a sound like a wounded animal, and his heart plummeted into his stomach. Tommy’s cheeks were red and puff and his lip was swollen and bruised, split down the middle with blood smudged on his chin. The boy’s nose wasn’t much better, dried blood and mucus trailing from his nostrils, tinted a deep purple, green and sickly yellow blooming around the edges. Wilbur felt a gasp escape from his throat, and his hands instinctively raised to cover his mouth. 

His eyes were also eclipsed by his pitch black pupils, tinged pink. Wilbur wouldn’t thought it was from tears, if not for the languid, wide, absolutely gassed grin on his face. Tommy snorted and chuckled at the look of horror and disbelief on the elders face.

“What’s good Big Dubs?” 

“Tommy, are you fucking high?”

—

This was going to be a long and awkward fucking car journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! Quick update about the future of this fanfiction. in light of Tommy having to speak up again against people sexualising him and tubbo, I don’t feel comfortable having published this. This work although inspired by their online personas, is very much based in the real people that are Tommy and Wilbur, and deals with adult themes like drinking and drug use. When I think about either of the creators being sent/stumbling across this work, I am aware there is the possibility they would find it uncomfortable and be unhappy with the existence of the work. That’s never my intention, and I don’t want to have any of my stuff associated with the dogshit that Tommy and Tubbo have to deal with, or for my work to be a symptom of the problem they have to deal with. I am considering possibly taking a break from writing this for a while. I hope you guys don’t take this personally, but just a warning that this may be where the story ends, at least for a while.
> 
> Thank you so much for the support, I never thought my writing could be anything people were invested in, and hearing that you guys were makes me so joyful. You’re all amazing <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! please do the comment n kudos they give me so much serotonin :D


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